Arc of Fire

This noon, Admiral Hawthorn entertained a delegation at a Carolingian restaurant.

Wang Zhong, who had grown accustomed to Antean cuisine, found it a bit difficult to adapt to authentic Carolingian food when he tried it.

He thought about it carefully; his personal chef was a Carolingian. Why then did all the dishes taste authentically Antean?

After the main course was taken away, Admiral Hawthorn mysteriously said to Wang Zhong, "What comes next is truly the best thing this restaurant has to offer! You’ll be absolutely satisfied!"

Wang Zhong, with his limited knowledge of Western cuisine, thought that after the main course, it would either be salad or dessert. The Federation’s top dessert should probably be some kind of ice cream.

As for salad... could it be the legendary Caesar salad?

At that moment, the waiter came in with a plated dish for each person.

When the round lid was lifted, there indeed was a salad beneath.

Wang Zhong prodded it with his fork and discovered pieces of bread cut up in it—other than that, it was just an ordinary dish of vegetables.

Admiral Hawthorn had already started eating and even showed a look of ecstasy as he did.

Wang Zhong grew even more perplexed.

Could it be that this dish, while modest in appearance, was actually quite good?

He imitated Admiral Hawthorn, scooping up some with his fork and placed it in his mouth.

Then his verdict was: not as good as chilled cucumber.

Damn, it’s been a long time since he had chilled cucumber. It was time to find a few Chinese diners in Chinatown and give them a try.

No sooner had the idea struck him than he could not suppress it any longer.

So Wang Zhong asked Admiral Hawthorn, who was still enjoying his meal heartily, "Does our fundraising process involve Chinatown?"

Admiral Hawthorn spread his hands, "No, because they’ve always been actively fundraising. They know that to save their homeland, they must rely on the Federation to defeat the Empire of Fusang. Incidentally, they are also actively donating to their own country. I have no idea where they get all that money."

No, perhaps they didn’t have that much money, just selling their pots and pans for the sake of their homeland.

Wang Zhong said, "I want to take a look at Chinatown."

Admiral Hawthorn was shocked, "Why? I told you they’ve been very enthusiastic about buying War Bonds and making donations..."

Wang Zhong replied, "That’s my homeland—my second homeland."

At that point, among the entire visiting group, only Wang Zhong’s Deputy Officer Yakov was relatively familiar with him, so he looked at Wang Zhong with surprise, as he had never heard Wang Zhong utter those words before.

While others thought it was odd, they didn’t think much of it. Having an aspirational second homeland was quite normal; just like many people wanted to visit Tibet.

Then, Yakov slapped his thigh, "I’ve got it! Madame Su Fang is of Mongolian descent, that must be linked to Ceres!"

...Wait a minute!

Wang Zhong quickly interjected, "That’s not it. As a child, I loved to read ’The Art of War’ by Sun Tzu! The ancient wisdom of the Cereans gave me great inspiration. So, I’ve always wanted to visit Ceres, and now that I’m in the Federation, I have to go to Chinatown at least once."

Yes, he hadn’t had such thoughts before, but once the idea took root, it was planted deeply and would not change even if heaven and earth were to fall apart, or the seas dry up and the rocks crumble.

Wang Zhong suddenly remembered that old song: "Only in my dreams do I see my rivers and mountains/The homeland that I have not been close to for many years~"

In truth, it hadn’t been that long since he crossed over, just a little over a year, not even a year and a half. But in this year-plus, Wang Zhong had endured trials that in peaceful times might take a lifetime—no, three lifetimes—to experience.

So it felt as though a long, long time had passed.

But nothing could change my Chinese heart.

Though I wear Western clothes, my heart remains Chinese—my ancestors long ago branded everything about me with the mark of China.

Wang Zhong’s tears simply wouldn’t stop.

He hastily began gobbling up the Caesar salad, praising as he ate, "This Caesar salad is so delicious, it’s making me cry!"

Admiral Hawthorn was delighted and rapidly rang the bell on the table, "Quick, bring Admiral Rocossov another bowl."

Wang Zhong ate even faster, oblivious to the source of the voice—still hallucinating:

The Yangtze and the Great Wall, the Yellow Mountain and the Yellow River, they weigh thousands of pounds in my heart~ No matter when, no matter where, they feel just as close~

As the hallucination faded, another bowl of Caesar salad was placed in front of Wang Zhong, appearing to have a lot more than the previous one.

Wang Zhong thought, for the sake of the Antean Empire’s dignity, he had to finish it, otherwise he couldn’t explain his sudden tears.

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He could only take up his fork with the determination of someone about to wipe out an entire Prosen armored army group.

An hour before the banquet.

Wang Zhong slumped in a chair in the Federation’s Presidential Palace Black Palace rest lounge, emitting pained groans.

Yakov looked at him, "Ate too much, huh? Even overeating a Carolingian feast, you really didn’t disgrace us Anteans."

Wang Zhong, "If you were Vasily, that comment would have been a dig at me."

"But I’m not," Yakov smiled, "Or do you think Vasily would have been a better Deputy Officer?"

Wang Zhong thought for a moment and shook his head, "No, Vasily should be in command—at least a battalion. I’m not clear whether he can lead more troops, that’s something to be seen."

Yakov nodded, "So you think I’mqualified as a Deputy Officer?"

Wang Zhong, "Of course, you’re much more adept at staff work than Vasily, who, after all, was trained to be an infantry platoon leader. You even do a great job picking up manure. I have it much easier with you around."

Yakov, "I’m pleased to hear you say that."

Just then, the door to the rest lounge opened, and Amelia came in, "The banquet is ready. Admiral, aren’t you going to meet with the heroes of the Allied Forces?"

Wang Zhong, "Why are you notifying me?"

"Because I’m also a combat hero of the Allied Forces," Amelia said with a slight smile, "And I hold the Royal Air Force’s highest kill count."

Wang Zhong thought to himself you’re just like the New Humans, gunning down assailants from three kilometers away with a machine gun—if you weren’t number one, it would mean someone else was cheating.

Wang Zhong stood up, the action causing him to let out a long, satisfied belch, and that wasn’t all—a foul air escaped from behind him.

In such a situation, there’s nothing to do but make a loud noise to cover it up and act like nothing happened.

Wang Zhong, "Amelia! The Federation has combat heroes now? From the Navy, you mean?"

"Many from the Navy, and there’s one from the Marine Corps. They’ve just made a landing on a small island in the Solomon Islands and gave birth to the Marine Corps’ first medal winner, apparently killing over 200 members of the Empire of Fusang with a machine gun."

Wang Zhong was overjoyed, "Oh, then I must meet this hero."

He walked out enthusiastically, but then Yakov stopped him, "General! Your belt came loose; it isn’t fastened tight?"

Wang Zhong, "Ah?"

The next moment, his head jolted, and he caught his belt, preventing a major diplomatic incident.

After tightening his belt, Wang Zhong gave Yakov a thumbs up.

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